


Gift

by Impressioniste



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1570421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impressioniste/pseuds/Impressioniste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke has an unexpected gift for Anders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gift

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of some more old fic that I've edited and cleaned up.

Garrett Hawke’s chest rhythmically rose and fell with deep, even breaths as he dozed peacefully in his favorite plush chair, which had been comfortably placed right beside the warm, crackling fireplace. His loyal mabari was curled up protectively by his feet, slumbering quietly along with its master, only stirring with an occasional involuntary twitch of an ear or a paw.

Hawke’s body jumped suddenly as the sound of the heavy front door banging shut echoed through the house, followed by a long series of familiar plodding footsteps coming from down the hall, and his eyes fluttered fully open just in time for him to focus a drowsy smile on Anders, looking expectedly tired and careworn upon arriving home after working at his clinic for the better part of the day and evening.

Anders smiled back reflexively—it was nearly automatic whenever he laid eyes on Hawke—but his brow creased with dismay at the sight of him lounging there in front of the fire. He had not expected to see Hawke there when he got home.

“Weren’t you supposed to be at a party, tonight?” Anders asked, tugging at the straps and buckles on his coat. The fabric and feathers stank of sickness, dirt, and chokedamp, and though he had grown quite accustomed to the uniquely fetid aroma of Darktown over the years, he was still quite eager to be rid of it for just a little while when he came home each night.

Hawke stretched languidly in his chair, arching his back and yawning wide before rubbing absently at his bearded chin and grinning roguishly in Anders’ direction.

“I decided to ‘regretfully decline’.”

“Ah,” Anders murmured in acknowledgement, but the crease remained at his brow. “That’s not like you at all,” he continued as he finished unbuckling his coat. Before Hawke had a chance to reply, Anders turned around and propped one foot up on a wooden stool, leaning down to work at the fastenings on his boots. Pushing himself up and out of the chair while taking care not to disturb the dog, Hawke padded quietly over to Anders, whose full attention appeared to be focused on the boots.

“If I accept every invitation, it sets a bad precedent,” he replied, leaning down to place a single, affectionate kiss at the nape of Anders’ neck before continuing on to his ear, resting one hand lightly on his back. “Never say no, and before you know it, everyone thinks you’re a soft-touch.”

Anders’ body stiffened and froze the moment Hawke’s lips touched his neck, but relaxed again when he felt the gentle pressure of Hawke's hand. He chuckled softly at Hawke’s cheeky reply, standing up straight to step out of his boots before turning to face Hawke with the slight twist of a smile on his lips.

“A soft-touch? _You?_ Perish the thought.”

“I can tell when you’re being sarcastic, you know.”

“I should hope so, because I’m laying it on pretty thick,” Anders teased, his eyes sparkling mirthfully.

“Oh, my wounded heart,” Hawke sighed melodramatically, placing his hand over his chest in a mocking expression of pain. “Is that any way to treat the man who’s waited up all evening, just to give you a gift?”

The playful expression on Anders’ face immediately softened, his eyes narrowing as he focused his gaze on Hawke.

“That’s why you skipped the party? For me?”

“I don’t see any other scruffy apostates lurking around my den.”

Anders frowned in response. “I’m hardly more important than your other obligations,” he protested. “It’s not too late to go, if you leave, now. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“And that’s enough of that,” Hawke replied, his voice firm as he brushed back a lock of hair that had sneaked its way free from Anders’ ponytail. “A night spent prancing around a room full of gossipy, over-painted, stuffed-shirt Hightown nobles is a night better spent doing almost anything else. At any rate, I’ve made up my mind, and I’m not accepting any arguments on the matter.”

Anders fought to hold back the hint of a blush that he knew was spreading across his face, clearing his throat and quickly initiating a change of subject. “Anyway. You said you had something for me?”

Without another word, Hawke grabbed Anders firmly by the hand and pulled him down the hallway, heading up the stairs toward their bedroom. Anders’ brow quirked dubiously as he blindly followed Hawke’s lead, feeling quite curious about what Hawke might possibly have to give him, and why.

Upon reaching the bedroom, Hawke turned to Anders and smiled sweetly, leading him toward the edge of the bed and waiting for him to sit before letting go of his hand and kneeling down to pick up a box that he had stashed away discreetly on the floor, beside the bed.

Anders waited patiently, finally taking the time to shrug out of his unfastened coat as Hawke came to sit beside him with the box in tow. It was a decent-sized box, although completely plain and free of any identifying markings, and Anders was completely at a loss for any idea of which might be inside.

Eyeing both Hawke and the box, Anders smiled gently. “What’s the occasion?” he asked lightly, wondering if there was some obscure anniversary that had somehow slipped his mind.

“Just because,” Hawke replied bluntly, handing the box over and setting it down between them on the bed. “Make something up if it’s really that important. Just open it.” He reached out and took one of Anders’ hands in his, placing it on the box’s lid and squeezing it once before pulling his own hand away and letting it drop onto his lap.

Anders ran his hand over the top of the box, drawing out the suspense for just a moment before tucking his fingertips under the edge of the lid and pulling it off, reaching inside and looking down to explore the contents.

The box was filled with several stacks of small, neatly-bound booklets.

“Hawke, what—” Anders began, wondering what this box of little booklets was supposed to mean.

“Open one of them. Read it,” Hawke urged, waiting expectantly for Anders to do so.

Anders gingerly picked up one of the little booklets, carefully opening the plain, unmarked cover and slowly scanning the words on the very first page.

_”Freedom is an indefeasible, self-evident right that must be extended to every man, woman, and child across Thedas. For a thousand years we have stripped away the basic human rights of those born with magic, but the time has come when we must take exception, and not simply accept that the way things have been is the way that they must always be. We must make right the wrongs that our forefathers have perpetuated in the name of prejudice and fear, and we must not rest until the practice of imprisoning a man due to an accident of birth is regarded as an abominable act of injustice.”_

He had recognized it immediately.

After reading those first few opening sentences, Anders found himself almost completely frozen in shock. The little booklet fell from his now-trembling hands, landing neatly in his lap. He lifted his head and looked incredulously at Hawke, desperately groping for something appropriate to say.

“Hawke. Garrett. I... I don’t know what to say. How did you...?”

Hawke’s self-satisfied grin nearly split his face in two. “What do you think?”

Anders picked up the booklet that had fallen into his lap and turned it over in his hands. It was clearly professionally-made, and small enough to be easily carried around. The words were uniformly and clearly printed on pristine paper, and the binding was neat and tidy. They appeared to be designed to be handed out to the public in fairly large numbers—which was evidenced by the fact that there seemed to be at least several dozen copies there in the box.

“It’s... perfect.”

“I thought this might be more... convenient? It’s certainly better than you writing yourself ragged, using up every ounce of ink in Kirkwall printing your own copies by hand.”

Anders felt the prickly warmth of unbidden tears beginning to well up in the corners of his eyes. “It’s just... I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, ‘thank you’ would be a start,” Hawke prompted, cheerfully.

Anders couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head and smiling sheepishly. “Of course. How awfully thoughtless of me.”

Leaning forward across the space between them, Anders pressed his mouth to Hawke’s in a warm, affectionate kiss. He felt Hawke’s large, calloused thumb brush his cheek as they kissed, wiping away a few stray tears that had managed to fall, despite Anders’ best efforts to hold them in.

“Thank you,” Anders whispered softly against Hawke’s lips as the kiss came to an end, sighing and letting his head drop to rest on Hawke’s shoulder. “However you did it, thank you.” Anders’ voice was a low murmur, his breath a warm tickle against the side of Hawke’s neck.

Hawke chuckled softly, running his fingers through Anders’ fine, straw-colored hair. “As much as I’d like to, I can’t take all the credit. You’ll have to thank Varric, too.”

“I should have known,” Anders replied, pulling away from Hawke and rubbing at his cheek as he looked down into the box full of booklets. He picked up the lid and placed it back on the box, pushing the box out of the way and sliding closer to Hawke, grabbing and squeezing his hand tightly. Hawke slipped his arm around Anders’ waist, pulling him close in an affectionate embrace, and Anders leaned his head back against Hawke’s shoulder again, much more comfortably than before.

“He wouldn’t even let me pay him,” Hawke continued, sliding his hand underneath Anders’ shirt and tracing gentle lines up and down the length of his back. “He said, ‘If it puts a smile on Blondie’s face for you, it’s on me, Hawke.’ Provided I give him all the sordid details of _just how thankful you are_ for the gift.”

Anders groaned, rolling his eyes and laughing against Hawke’s shoulder. “Of course. Why did I not see that coming?”

“I could always just make something up,” Hawke suggested, kissing the top of Anders’ head.

Anders lifted his head and smiled provocatively in response, twisting around and reaching up to wrap both arms tenderly around Hawke’s neck.

“Or we could give him his money’s worth,” he replied, his words tinged with a brazenly suggestive lilt.

“I _like_ that idea,” Hawke concurred, happily letting Anders push him down on the bed and cover his neck with hungry kisses. “Still wish I’d gone to that party?” he teased a moment later, just as Anders’ teeth roughly grazed his throat.

“No more talking,” Anders purred, covering Hawke's mouth with his own, perfectly content to allow the kisses speak for themselves.

**Author's Note:**

> [Varric does make reference to having printing blocks at some point](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Varric_Tethras/Dialogue) (Aveline threatens to take them away, actually), and there are all the references to his self published literature, of course, in case there are questions about the technology involved in mass producing text and whether or not it was accessible.


End file.
